All you need is a little coffee
by The Beedle the Bard
Summary: Draco is having trouble with Harry. He decides to confide in a muggle barista with ridiculous aspirations and expectations.


**Um, hi? This is my first Drarry/published fic. I don't own anything. Honestly, if I did I wouldn't be writing fanfiction about it. **

She wasn't pretty, Draco mused. But she was far from ugly. Odd haircut. It stuck up, like it had been zapped. But the back of her nape was covered. Draco wondered what it would look like a little longer. Her eyes were big and rather unfitting for her face, small and ovalish it was. Her nose was okay; a small bump makes it only a tad crooked. But her eyes were green. Like Harry's.

She smiled, "Can I help you?" Draco could not help but notice her teeth were straight, but too big; patches of white sprinkled them. She tilted her head questioningly. "Sir?"

And that was the point when Draco remembered that he was not looking at a painting. She was a barista waiting for an order. "Yes, um, sorry. Can I have the coffee order number si—no, seven?"

"Sure," she hesitated before typing something into her computer. "Can I get a name for the order?"

"Harry," he said automatically. He mentally kicked himself. That wasn't his name! "Harry…" whatever he was going to say died instantly.

The girl—Darya was it? It's what her nametag said—raised an eyebrow, "You _do _know that it's like, one a.m.?"

"You _do _know that you're running a 24/7 coffee shop?" Draco retorted. "I should think that I have the right to drink coffee at your café whenever I please without being interrogated. Be it three a.m. or p.m."

Darya scoffed before turning away from him. Presumably to make the drink. "I don't manage the café," she hollered over the roar of the coffee grinder. "I'm just a fourteen year old girl with ridiculous aspirations and expectations in life." She paused, turning back to him. Her eyes flickered to the computer screen before meeting his eyes, "Draco Lucius Malfoy."

Draco stiffened, pulled out his wand, and pointed it threateningly at her, "How do you know me?"

* * *

Darya Julia Corry was…surprised? Or frightened. Whichever adjective would work. In any case, she was surprened. A mix of the two words. Here was this stranger at one in the morning, claiming to be called Harry when his real name was Draco and then when he swiped his card in the machine…oh it was all too much.

"How do you know me?"

Instantly, she stopped the coffee machine. "Whoa there, buddy. I mean, idk what that thing does," Darya nodded her head toward the wand. Wand? Was it a wand? Was that the intent? "But I'm sure I'll be blown into smithereens and, trust me, I really don't need that right now. Finals are tough as they are."

"You still haven't answered the question." The man loomed before her, shaking his stick...no that sounded wrong.

"Your card, dude!" in a moment of panic she lifted up the machine that the customers swipe their credit card in and waved it in front of him. "When you swipe the card in the machine, your name pops up."

The man's guards were down now, his arms swayed by his side and his head tipped back. He was upset.

"I'm sorry?" she tried.

"Fuck this. Just, can I have my drink?"

"Yeah, it's almost done."

* * *

Draco slipped into the booth. He was too tired to do anything else, much less "magic" his way home. Why not? He asked himself with a chuckle. He had already pulled his wand out on her. It's not like she thought he was a _more _of a whack job or anything.

"So," he groaned as the fourteen year old with unrealistic expectations and aspirations slid into the seat across him. "You're a whack job. Nice." Her mussed hair reminded him of Harry's.

"What do you want—" he stopped mid sentence, looking back at her nametag. He had forgotten her name already. "—Darya."

Her eyes widened and her attention flicked back to her nametag. "Ohyeah, um," she grinned, unaware she was babbling. What on earth was a muggle girl doing at one in the morning working? Shouldn't she be at home sleeping?

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "I should be." And that was the end of that conversation. Draco was staring intently at his drink. It heated up the tips of his fingers. It's black exterior stared back at him. Memories swirled in it. Like a pensive you needn't stick your head in or extract memories from your head. He hated it. Looking up, he noticed Darya had busied herself with books and papers. When had they gotten there was beyond him.

"What're those for?" Draco was desperate for a distraction. Listening to a muggle girl ramble on about whatever it is she talks about it better then recollecting the past.

"Finals," she huffed. "I have my math final tomorrow and I haven't been the most studious." Shrugging again, she shut the book and slumped in her seat. "I'll pass."

"Good, passing is good." He paused, wondering if he should say it. "I was the second in my class." Too late now.

"Ah, you studious kids," she grinned. "Not smart, per se, but efficient. Like a machine." She chuckled at her own joke.

"Yeah, but the smart ones always burn out," he said.

"Who's Harry?"

* * *

She was itching to know. "Who's Harry?" She watched as his guarded expression fell into a panicked eye-widened stare.

"What?"

"C'mon, Dray, or was it Drake?"

"Dra_co._" He corrected pointedly.

"Right," she dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "Whatever, anyway, you wouldn't have said Harry if he wasn't something special to you. Er, rather, some_one _special."

He gave her a sigh of defeat. "I loved him. Once. I think."

"_You're _decisive," she rolled her eyes. "You think you loved him?" She was confused. How could you be _unsure _if you love someone? The butterflies in her stomach made that decision about Charlie _years _ago.

"I think so," he repeated. He was odd, she decided. Odder than her. And that was saying something. He wasn't cute (much to her dismay). He was tall and lanky. Not lean, but lanky. And he was pale. Paler than her. Again, that was saying something. And he had blond hair. Underlying black was clear to see. She would have put him in the "dirty blond" category. Dead grey eyes stared back at her. "I'm not sure." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I love him. That's why he left me."

"See? A simple, 'he was my ex boyfriend' would have sufficed."

* * *

Draco thought much about Darya and Harry the days after. He liked her. She was…different. She was nice yet rude. She was blunt. Draco liked that.

But he also liked Harry.

His thoughts remained incoherent as he entered the same coffee shop. Scanning the baristas, he looked for the same fourteen year old. She wasn't there, he noticed with disappointment. But he got into the line anyway and waited, rocking back and fourth.

* * *

The next day, he tried again. Only, it was early. Super early. Three forty-five a.m. to be precise. She was there, hunched over her books, scratching her mop of hair.

The sound of the bell snapped her head up.

"Oh," she grinned. "You."

Darya was glad he had come again. Mr. Indecisive. "How's Harry?" she asked, genuinely curious. His love scenario had been played out in her head several times. Sixty-eight times, to be exact.

"Terrible," Draco huffed. "Number seven," his hands played with the parchment tipping off the side of the counter. His eyes were focused on the muggle contraption that separated them. Computer scanny things. That's what he called them.

"Is he British too?"

"Yeah, I moved from London for him. Or with him. Because of him." His hands abandoned the…science worksheet and decided his hair would be a better use of his time.

The coffee machine (Draco looked at it more as the meaning of all happiness) roared and spluttered.

"Here we are," she handed him the drink and glanced at the door. "So he told you he loved you and you couldn't respond because you weren't sure and so then he got mad and broke up with you?"

"Not really," Draco released a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "He told me he loved me and I ran." He had disapparated actually, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "I never got back to him. I ignored his calls—"

"Stop," Darya held up her hand, walking around the barista counter and leading him over to a booth. She plopped down across from him. Again. "You're sounding pathetic."

"I _am _pathetic. I'm a pathetic cowardly bastard who…" he was crying. Never had he cried in front of friends, or foe. Only once did he cry, but that was to his mother. Darya nodded sympathetically and placed her chin on her hands, looking away. The wobbly table propped up her elbows. "You're very smart for a fourteen year old."

"Yes, I suppose I am," she sighed. "In certain areas. I don't have many friends though." She shrugged and gave him a wry smile. "Now that I think of it, not many people _have _a lot of friends."

"True," Draco shrugged. He wasn't sure if he actually _had _any real friends other than Pansey and Blaise. Maybe Goyle and Cr—_no, _he thought savagely. Not Crabbe. He had shut the fiendfire from his mind ages ago.

"Credit or cash?"

"Cash," he coughed, pulling out his wallet. After a while, he decided to ask, "What do guys like?"

* * *

Darya blinked once. And then again. And then a third time. "What?"

"What do guys like?" Draco repeated. "Do you have a hearing impediment?"

She twisted her face and scoffed, "No." Darya straightened herself and walked around the corner, leading Draco to the booth. "I just don't know how to answer your question—I mean, I go to an all girls school. I literally know _nothing _about boys."

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"You weren't supposed to ask the question, dude!" she flailed her arms to make more of a point. "I'm terrible about this shit—" Her eyes widened. "Wait," Darya had an epiphany.

"Dear Merlin, save us all. The infernal child has an idea."

"You know, after just crying like, five seconds ago, you're rather cocky." Darya sneered. "Now shut up. I'm going to help you determine if you 'like like' this Harry dude." She made air quotes at him.

"How so?" Draco sipped his drink from the small slot on the lid. The warm drink didn't hurt his fingers as much as it did the first time he had come.

"Do you get all, 'ohmygod it's _Harry_' or 'oh look, its Harry?'"

"What?"

"Do you get butterflies whenever you see him?" she was helping him as much as she could, but she needed 100% participation.

Draco answered slowly, "Yes."

"Good," Darya nodded. "Now," she took a deep breath and puffed it out. "You said you moved countries for him. Would you still—no that's a terrible question. What about, this one: do you find your thoughts wandering back to Harry whenever he's not around you?"

"Yes," that was an easy question. Draco's thoughts were _always _on Harry. _ALWAYS. _He had often thought it was unfair. Harry hogged his thoughts by doing absolutely _nothing._

"You love him, Draco," Darya had given up. She knew that two questions wouldn't be enough to convince him, but there was no other… There was nothing. That was the truth. There was absolutely nothing.

"I do?"

"Yes, now stop being a coward and make up." She was surprised with how easy that was. She then added after a brief pause, "Then make passionate love and—"

"Aren't you fourteen?" Draco was flabbergasted. "Since when do fourteen year olds think about sex?"

Darya snorted, "Since always. Now go," she shooed him away. "Leave and make up. Come back later and tell me how it went."

"Okay," he took a shaky breath before sliding away.

"Hey," she called. "Promise you'll come back?"

"Promise."

* * *

Draco's heart thrummed against his chest as the stared at the looming door before him. It was the moment of truth. He wasn't going to run away from his problems. Not this time.

His had hovered over the door, threatening to…it was just there. Threatening to do what his mind couldn't.

And then he was knocking on the cool wooden door. The knock sounded hollow and unreal. Almost like he had imagined it.

Then, slowly, the menacing entryway opened, "Draco?" Harry looked the same. Almost. He had raccoon eyes and his glasses were tipped on his face. His hair was messier than usual.

"Harry," Draco choked out. "You—I realize that you must hate me, but—"

"Draco—"

"I'm trying, Harry! I really am! Just hear me out," Harry shut his jaw with a light 'snap.' "I am a coward and run from anything that could potentially ruin or improve my life juristically unless I'm forced." Draco kept his eyes trained on Harry's. "And when you told me you loved me I wasn't sure if I was going to be ruined or fixed. I'm unstable, idiotic, and ridiculous and I was afraid that—well, the scary thing about dating is that you either break up with the person or marry them. I was afraid of loosing you, so I ran." He stopped to take a breath. Harry still didn't say a word. "Harry, I was so scared. I know that it doesn't make any sense, but I…I made a terrible mistake. I love you, Harry. I love you more than anyone else in this world."

"Draco,"

"I love you more than my mother and my father. I love you more than Pansey or Blaise. I love you more than that girl behind the counter at the coffee store with ridiculous aspirations and expectations. And if you hate me, I get it. I hate me too."

There was silence followed by, "Would you like to join me for dinner?"

"I get it—wait, what?" Draco stood dumbfounded at the entrance. Harry reached for his hand and dragged him in.

"Unless you would rather skip that and go strait to the good parts."

"You're not mad or…anything?"

His face scrunched up, "Draco, I know you're a coward with trust issues. Of course I expected you to bolt when I told you I love you."

"Oh," Draco was disappointed that his speech (it was made up on a whim, by the way) was pointless. He allowed himself to be led to the—their kitchen. And then he remembered a promise. "Harry," he rasped. "I need to go." He watched Harry tense. "I'll be back," he kissed the back of his boyfriend's head before turning away. "I made a promise."

"Can I go with you?" he had said it so quietly, that Draco wasn't sure he had said it at all. Then slowly, a grin spread across his face.

"I would love for you to."

* * *

Darya had been sleeping when the jingle of the shop door went off.

"Darya!" Draco pranced over to her, dragging Harry (was it Harry? They were holding hands so she could only assume) in tow. "It worked! I got over myself and I," he paused to kiss Harry. "I—" and this time Harry kissed him.

"I got the idea, Draco," Darya chuckled. "No need to continue the sentence. Just carry on."

"Pervert," Draco said in between kisses. She watched as they stumble out of the shop. They would be happy, and so would she.

**Um, constructive criticism, guys. I welcome it. **


End file.
